Page 37 of Alpha's Exiled Mate

Orin quickly stepped back a few paces, bowing his head in a gesture of respect. “Your Highness, I merely happened upon Her Highness while she was unwell.”

But his posture was too upright, his gaze too steady, as if silently asserting he’d done nothing wrong. And she—myprincess—glanced at me briefly before turning away, striding down the corridor with purposeful steps, as if she couldn’t wait to escape my presence.

“Viossi, stop!” I called out, my voice unintentionally laced with a commanding edge.

Her steps faltered for a moment, her shoulders visibly tensing, but she didn’t turn back. She continued walking, her resolve unshaken, leaving me behind.

This defiance stung, morphing into a simmering irritation. No one had ever treated me this way. No one had dared.

“Your Highness, I have urgent intelligence to report,” Orin interjected, his tone reverting to the calm professionalism I was accustomed to.

“Speak,” I said, forcing my gaze away from the direction she’d disappeared into, compelling myself to focus on matters of state.

“Jackson has been frequently meeting with border nobles and military officers. Our spies have uncovered evidence of him secretly amassing a private force.” Orin pulled a rolled parchment from his coat. “These details his recent activities, including clandestine meetings with several nobles who are discontent with the court.”

I took the document, scanning its contents swiftly. Jackson was indeed plotting something, and his movements were swifter than I’d anticipated. Without a doubt, last night’s rogue werewolf attack bore his signature—a warning, or perhaps a test of my defenses.

“Is there concrete proof?” I asked, my eyes narrowing as I scrutinized Orin.

Orin had been by my side since childhood, an orphan my father rescued from the slums. He was just seven then, battered and bruised from being chased for stealing bread. It was I who begged my father to take him in, I who taught him to read andwrite, trained him to become a capable knight. Over the years, he’d been my most trusted confidant. We’d faced countless life-and-death situations together; he’d nearly died saving me once.

I had never questioned his loyalty. Until now.

Could I still trust a man who showed such inappropriate closeness to my wife?

“There’s no direct evidence yet, but we have several reliable leads,” Orin replied. “Our spies have noted unusual activity near Jackson’s estate—people coming and going under the cover of night, their movements suspicious. It’s almost certain he’s planning a rebellion.”

This wasn’t good news, though it didn’t surprise me. Jackson had always coveted the throne, especially now, with the cursed deadline of my death looming closer.

“Keep investigating. Uncover his accomplices and the specifics of his plans. Increase security around the palace, especially near the princess’s quarters.”

Orin nodded, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. “Your Highness, the rogue werewolf attack might have been orchestrated by Jackson. The target seemed to be Lady Sophia, which fits his pattern—striking at those you care the most, before…”

“Sophia is not the one I care the most,” I snapped, the words slipping out before I could stop them, surprising even myself.

Orin’s expression shifted, a complex mix of emotions crossing his face before he masked it. “Understood, Your Highness. I’ll personally oversee Her Highness’s security arrangements.”

“And one more thing,” I added, my voice icy. “Remember your place, Orin. Whatever thoughts you harbor toward her, she is my wife. It’s a warn.”

A flash of shock crossed his face, followed by a dawning realization and a suppressed emotion I couldn’t quite decipher.

He didn’t argue, instead bowing deeply. “I understand, Your Highness.”

I gestured for him to leave, turning to face the view beyond the window.

As my breathing steadied, so did my mind. She had somehow seeped into my emotions without my realizing it. This state of being swayed by another was dangerous—too dangerous. I couldn’t allow it to continue.

Yet, throughout the day, her image haunted me. The humiliation in her eyes when Sophia belittled her, the ease she showed when Orin comforted her, the cold determination when she turned away from me—these scenes replayed in my mind like a relentless loop, making it impossible to focus on the documents before me.

I resolved to speak with her directly. This tension benefited neither of us.

The next morning, I summoned a maid. “Tonight, I will dine in my wife’s chambers,” I said curtly. “Inform her to be ready.”

The maid’s eyes widened in surprise before she bowed. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

This wasn’t my usual approach—I never sought out anyone, especially not someone who so clearly distanced themselves from me. But this stalemate had to end, and as the crown prince, I couldn’t outright apologize. That would signal weakness.

That evening, I arrived at her chambers on time. The attendants had set an elegant table with fine silverware and flickering candelabras, a faint floral scent lingering in the air. She wore a simple evening gown, her hair pinned in a modest updo, devoid of excessive adornments, as if she deliberately avoided drawing my attention.